


what would an angel say? the devil wants to know

by seditonem



Category: Doctor Who RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-04-28
Packaged: 2018-01-21 03:53:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1536545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seditonem/pseuds/seditonem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Matt memorises more than his lines and Karen is impatient.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what would an angel say? the devil wants to know

Karen Gillan is mad. Absolutely mad, Matt decides, as soon as he meets her. A lovely sort of mad, though – the best kind, the kind that makes you laugh and want to climb inside her head and talk to her thoughts all day long.   
  
“Your phone’s buzzing,” Karen observes, watching the flat-screened gadget try to move across the table as it alerts Matt to an incoming call.   
  
“So’s your mum,” he replies, cheerfully, and rejects the call. She smiles; there’s one hair caught on her cheekbone. He wants to brush it away. They order another coffee and chat. Matt memorises the curve of Karen’s waist without realising it.  
  
#  
  
Matt gets used to filming, gradually. He breaks most of the props - "It's ok, I'm still alive! ...but I think the sonic's dead. Sorry!" - gets a little  _too_  into some of the scenes, and spends most of his time either learning lines, staring at Karen or rejecting calls from Daisy.  
  
Clearly, something's wrong. He’s never had this sort of reaction to a co-worker before. It’s almost worrying.   
  
Matt holes up with a script and pretends absolutely nothing is wrong. He turns off his phone.   
  
#  
  
“So, you’re stuck in Croatia with nothing to do on a Saturday night – what do you do?” Matt asks, drumming his fingers on the table. He can’t stop moving; it’s like his body won’t turn off. He can’t help sneaking glances at Karen, either. How predictable, he thinks – falling for someone who’s unmistakably taken, and unmistakably gorgeous. It sounds like a Mills & Boon novel.   
  
“Except we  _are_  struck in Croatia with nothing to do on a Saturday night,” Karen grins, putting her feet up on a chair. “It’s  _fine_ , we’ll get some Pimm’s and enjoy the weather.” They both ignore the fact that they can’t speak the language, and that they’ll probably only be able to find vodka in the shops – definitely not the most British of drinks, Pimm’s.   
  
“It’s freezing,” Matt replies, deadpan, and then they both crack up.   
  
Mad, absolutely mad.   
  
The kind of mad that sticks in his head whenever she’s not around, he’s discovered.   
  
Which is vaguely distracting when Daisy calls him and all Matt can think of to say is, “I’ll call you later, darlin’, got a few things kicking around right now.”   
  
He doesn’t even speak like that, normally, what  _is_  this?   
  
#  
  
“It’s Pimm’s o’clock!”   
  
There’s cucumber in his glass.  
  
“There’s cucumber in my glass,” Matt says, using a cocktail stick to pull out the piece of cucumber. He examines it from several angles and takes an experimental bite. It tastes of summer.   
  
Karen pulls a face. “It’s called making Pimm’s. You know, you add fruit.”  
  
“Fruit?”   
  
“Yes, fruit. That stuff which is quite tasty and not part of the vegetable family - like strawberries.” She’s rolling her eyes.  
  
“I know perfectly well what fruit is, thank you,” he says, hiding a smile.   
  
It’s pretty tasty, actually, when he drinks it. He has to admit Karen occasionally knows what she’s doing.   
  
#  
  
Matt’s eyes are hurting from flashes of the cameras. Karen’s skin is cool under his hand as he steers her past cameras, faux smile in place. He leaves her a few minutes later to do a couple of quick interviews, answering inane questions and nodding every now and then.   
  
“ – nope, nope, single again, I guess,” a voice says, somewhere behind him.   
  
Matt blinks, shakes himself slightly, and tries to concentrate. He’s sure he accidentally says something about liking mashed potatoes and carrots, but it doesn’t matter, because next thing he knows, Karen’s standing next to him, looking slightly pleased with herself, her hand on his arm.   
  
“Spacing out?” she grins.  
  
“Just a little blinded,” he replies, shrugging, and leads her inside.  
  
#  
  
Filming Doctor Who is like being part of a large incestuous family. Sometimes Matt walks in on young interns who’re getting a little too friendly with the lighting guys, or costume people who’re trying on their own creations; it gets claustrophobic, so occasionally he sneaks off and sits outside, trying to take in the reality of the situation.   
  
“So this is where you hide out,” Karen says, appearing out of nowhere, wrapped in a large coat. She sits down next to him, her breath coming out in cloudy puffs of air.   
  
“It’s hardly hiding, now that you’ve found me,” Matt replies, crossing his legs at the ankles and staring at the sky.  
  
“Playing the Doctor got too much for you?” she teases.   
  
“Yes, and now I’m going to dramatically bow out of the show, claim I’m exhausted and throw myself off a bridge,” he sighs.  
  
“N’aw,” Karen grins. “Do you want me to talk you out of it?”   
  
Matt looks at her for a moment; a moment too long, he realises, because she’s looking back – she’s staring back at him. And he’s not doing anything.   
  
“Your phone,” Karen says, quietly. “Your phone is buzzing.” They’re leaning close enough to kiss, he notices.  
  
“It can buzz all it likes,” Matt whispers, because if he speaks any louder something will shatter, and leans a little closer, close enough for her lips to touch his.   
  
“Will it have to get used to buzzing like this?” Karen’s voice is almost too quiet to hear.   
  
“Probably,” Matt nods. He can’t stop looking at her eyes, the slope of her jaw, her lips. He settles on staring at her lips.   
  
“Are you going to kiss me any time this century?” she asks, sounding vaguely annoyed and amused at the same time.  
  
“Yeah, I was planning on it, actually,” says Matt.   
  
For all that Karen’s lips look very nice, he decides, they feel a lot nicer. In fact, they feel pretty fantastic.  
  
“You have a fantastic mouth,” he tells her, after a few minutes.  
  
“Then you should be putting it to good use,” she grins, a ridiculous curl of her lips that is undeniably sexy. Matt loves it, loves the way her eyelashes almost touch her cheeks, loves the way he can’t stop kissing her, pressing their lips together like he’s drinking her in but can’t do it all at once. She tastes of tea, of baked sugar. He traces her tongue, learns her, rubbing the pad of his thumb against the soft skin of her neck. He can feel her pulse beneath his palm, jumping hotly under her skin like it wants to be closer to him.   
  
“I was, actually,” he reminds her, kissing down her neck till he can feel her shiver against him, “but this is far more entertaining.”   
  
“You talk altogether far too much,” Karen says, decisively, and completely ruins Matt’s exploration of her neck.   
  
#  
  
“So,” he says.  
  
“So?” Matt’s trying to get over the fact that Karen Gillan is naked in his bed, white sheets curled around her hips like solidified smoke. She looks at him, eyeliner smudged a little under her left eye, utterly perfect.  
  
“So – so if you were stuck in the TARDIS with the Doctor, what would you do?” he asks, for lack of anything better to say.  
  
“That depends,” she frowns. “Does he wear thermals?”   
  
Matt hits her with a pillow. She grins, pushing his hands away. He traces one of her ribs where it just shows beneath the skin.   
  
“Depends. If they’re visiting a cold planet, then yes, the Doctor wears thermals. He can’t get a cold, it’d be bad for his reputation.”   
  
Karen nods. “What is his doctorate in, anyway?”  
  
“Your mum,” Matt replies, ending the conversation temporarily by kissing her. Her mouth is hot and warm and perfect. He traces two fingers down her chest, between her breasts, over the dip between her ribcages and circles her navel. She’s wet when he gets to the heated space between her legs, and she spreads her legs a little – infinitesimally - as he slips a finger inside her.   
  
“You – you overuse that joke,” Karen reminds him, licking her lips. Something like that shouldn’t be so sexy, Matt thinks. It’s unfair to the male sex.   
  
“But he’s been thinking about changing his field of research,” he continues, trying to distract himself.   
  
“To what?” she asks, breath hitching. The balls of her feet press hard against the mattress as she leans back, eyes shut. Matt moves so he can lean on one elbow next to her, close enough that if he moves a little he can kiss her neck, her shoulders, the curve of her left breast.   
  
“To girls with hair that’s utterly unclassifiable. Who wear short skirts and never do what they’re told,” he says, whispering it by her ear as he adds another finger. The heat of her bleeds into him like a stain on a clean tablecloth. He crooks his fingers gently; she’s still a little sensitive from earlier, but he’s going to use it mercilessly to his advantage.   
  
“Ah,” she replies, but she’s not really listening anymore. “Could you – ”  
  
He presses gently with the pads of his fingers and she breaks off, canting her hips towards his hand.   
  
“Could I what? Save the world in twenty minutes?” he teases, pressing his lips gently against her collarbone.   
  
“You’re impossible,” she murmurs, her legs spreading across the bed as he presses deeper into her.   
  
“I tell you what,” Matt suggests, “we can continue this conversation when I’m done dealing with you, ok?”   
  
He doesn’t give her a chance to reply, just moves down the bed between her thighs. Karen is surprisingly ok with that, judging by the noises she makes. 

**Author's Note:**

> "yeah i know the ending sucks but believe me i tried about a bajillion different ones and NONE OF THEM WORKED" is what the lj entry says. sorry about that.


End file.
